Aiyan shuffled and dealt the cards. They played some kind of progressive game, and bet on every card turned. Lyzuga seemed to have good down-cards and bet more heavily as the hand went on, until the end when Aiyan pushed his entire stake into the pot.
“That’s not enough to call,” said Captain Lyzuga.
Aiyan reached under his vest. Kyric knew that he carried much more money than the twenty kandars he had placed on the table. Still, it was as much as Kyric had made in a month of cooking. But Aiyan withdrew a thin sheath of papers, slightly bigger than his hand and bound with soft leather, setting it in front of him. “This is worth more than your ship, Captain,” he said evenly.
Lyzuga stroked his long moustache and smiled. “If you are about to tell me that this is Redbeard’s diary describing the way to his lost treasure, let me tell you that first, Redbeard didn’t know how to read or write, and second, he never lost his treasure. He spent it all.”
Aiyan tossed it onto the pot and leaned closer. “It’s the way to the lost Spice Islands.”
Lyzuga broke into a tired cackling laugh. “I once knew a captain who collected these. He had over a dozen fake maps to the Spice Islands. Of course, most of the routes depicted suffered a telling flaw — “
“They didn’t cross the line,” said Aiyan.
Captain Lyzuga froze for a moment, then relaxed, his smile returning. He nodded respectfully at Aiyan, as to a player who played his game well. “I will assign that little fabrication the value of one kandar. You’ll need four more to call the bet.”
Aiyan produced the coins and turned the last cards. He didn’t even look at his. He knew he had lost and pushed the pot and the bound papers at Captain Lyzuga. Kyric wondered if he had rigged the deck before the last deal.
As Lyzuga finished counting his winnings he picked up the booklet on a whim and thumbed the pages. At one point he stopped, sliding a monocle from under his sash. “This page is very good,” he murmured.
Aiyan leaned over. “I have a full size copy of that chart in another place.”
Captain Lyzuga smiled again, shaking his head at Aiyan. “I don’t know why you’re pursuing this. You’ve already sold me this hoax for a kan— “ Then his eye caught something. He adjusted the monocle and looked again, staring hard then turning quickly to another page and then another, turning them frantically until he closed the sheath and slammed it down on the table, his face losing a bit of its color.
“This is a fake,” he said savagely. “It has to be a fake. What is your game?” He placed his hand on the pistol in his sash, the monocle falling from his eye.
“Easy, captain,” Aiyan said. “We’re simply looking for a ship to take us there. If I’m making you nervous I’ll just buy back my rudders and be off.”
Lyzuga mopped his brow with a lace handkerchief. Even at three o’clock in the morning it was still hot. “Ridiculous,” he spat. “Absurd. If these charts were authentic you would be speaking to the Doge of Sevdin, or some such person, and you would have been provided with a ship. Or someone else rather. Because they don’t use thieving con men who had the luck to bludgeon the right Baskillian courier.” He seemed to be arguing with himself.
Aiyan raised one eyebrow. “It’s true that I stole the original charts. Those are still in Aeva. But we are not hucksters or thieves. I belong to an ancient order of Aessian knights, and our expedition has been sponsored by Princess Aerlyn of the house of Quytis.”
“This is not something the Senate of Aeva would trust to an unknown captain.”
“The Senate knows nothing of this. This is, hmm, a private enterprise. If the princess were to use any ship of Aeva, or any known agent, or make arrangements in any Western city, this little adventure wouldn’t stay secret for long.”
Kyric had to admire Aiyan. He was the best liar Kyric had ever seen. He could paint the complete picture of a lie without ever telling an outright falsehood.
Captain Lyzuga rolled a coin across the backs of his knuckles. “It’s late, gentlemen. I would have to examine this under a glass before accepting it as accurate, and right now I need to sleep. Perhaps I could take the rudders with me and you could call upon me at my ship tomorrow. In the afternoon.”
“You won them. They belong to you,” Aiyan said with only a hint of satisfaction.
Lyzuga had spoken calmly, in a matter-of-fact tone. But when he reached for the sheath of papers he hesitated, like it was a snake that might bite him.
They gathered themselves and went out the door together, taking in the freshness of the pre-dawn breeze. The raucous piano had long quit, but the endless cacophony of cicadas, tree frogs, night birds, and who-knew-what rattled on. They didn’t see any of the rickshaws that served as cabs in Ularra.
“Would you like us to walk you to your ship, Captain?” Aiyan asked. “Just to be sure you make it safely.”
Lyzuga shook his head. “No need to worry about me. I’m fast on my feet.”
But Kyric noticed that he sweated harder than he had in the closed gaming room.
They watched him walk away. When he turned the corner Aiyan started after him, signaling Kyric to follow quietly.
Captain Lyzuga was indeed fast on his feet. They had to quick step to keep from losing sight of him. They followed him to the dockside road, and weaved through a dozen heavy wagons sitting with sugar and rare woods meant for an outbound merchantman. When they came within sight of Calico, Aiyan stopped.
“Look,” he said, pointing to the top of the main mast. A slender figure standing on the watch platform there stepped onto a line running to the top of the mizzen mast and quickly tiptoed across it, easy as a stroll despite the slight downward cant. The figure then hopped onto a rope running to the deck at a terrible angle, and walked down that line in measured steps, reaching the deck in time to greet Lyzuga as he came aboard.
“That’s impossible,” whispered Kyric. “The angle is too sharp. You wouldn’t have enough traction if you had glue on your feet.”
“Maybe she has claws,” said Aiyan with a straight face.
Kyric couldn’t tell if he was joking.
CHAPTER 5: A River of Blood
He awoke on a sandy shore made hard by a thousand seashells. The ocean glowed turquoise against a shimmering blue sky, yet it was so clear that he could see the shipwrecks at the bottom of the inlet. He watched a hermit crab pick its way across the carpet of shells.
Behind him, sparse sandy grassland stretched to a dark horizon. Rolirra must have brought him up and hauled him ashore, but he didn’t see her anywhere.
He waited for what seemed like hours. Thick grey clouds rolled in from the land, and a light rain began to fall. He walked along the shore until he spotted a trail running though the tall grass.
He followed it inland, the clouds growing darker, the rain falling harder. He tried to call out for Rolirra, but again he had no voice. He strained to shout. No sound would come. The path became slippery, his footing uncertain, and when one of his feet slid into the grass he felt a sharp sting, a great blue snake slithering quickly away.
The bite didn’t hurt and he plodded on, now seeing what looked to be a line of trees ahead. Lightning shot among the clouds and the storm struck, the sky breaking open and the rain falling in a fury. It was getting hard to walk. A kind of paralysis was spreading from the snake bite, spreading up that leg and down the other. He was becoming numb.
He broke out of the grassland and came to the edge of a thick jungle. A long hut made of sticks and mud stood there. He struggled towards it. He could barely move. He opened the crude door and staggered in. The door closed behind him and he was alone.
Despite the afternoon heat and the stuffy cabin, Lyzuga served them coffee before he said anything. There weren’t any big glass windows at the stern as on larger ships — only a single porthole. The sheath of miniature charts lay open on his writing desk.
“I find it interesting that only six of the seven lost islands are shown here — the big island, Mokkala, and the fiv
e little ones, known as the Quintet, to the south. On the fake charts I have seen they always include Gavdi, the seventh lost island.
“As for navigational accuracy,” Lyzuga continued, “there is a little-known island called The Turtle at eleven degrees north latitude. In fact, its location is almost a secret. I can confirm that the celestial observations supposedly recorded there are accurate. There’s no doubt that the original map maker was there at the indicated time of year.”
He looked pointedly at Aiyan. “But I have been there myself, so that means little. If you wish to convince me, you must provide the page that is missing from the rudders. The one with the observations south of the line. I find it interesting that he says a compass will still point north, but latitude is not marked on the map. It’s said that there is no southern pole star, and certainly no book of ephemeris exists for the southern hemisphere, so how did he record the latitude of the islands?”
“There was a list of meridian stars,” Aiyan said. He placed one finger on his forehead. “I have them all memorized.”
Lyzuga smiled slyly through his moustache. “So no one can sail off without you. Yes, very clever if all this is true.”
Kyric shifted in his seat and stretched his leg, feeling the tingle of circulation finally returning. It had kept going numb all morning and they had to take a rickshaw to the docks.
“I have one more item to show you,” Aiyan said, reaching into his vest pocket.
He produced a vial containing a fine brown powder. He dumped it all onto the coffee table and Kyric was struck by a startling scent, a wondrous fragrance that filled his head and ran down the back of his throat. Captain Lyzuga leaned forward and breathed in deeply, his eyes narrowing to slits. Aiyan took a pinch of the powder and sprinkled it into the captain’s coffee. Lyzuga sipped cautiously.
“By the gods of my ancestors,” he stammered. “I . . . I didn’t know. I didn’t have any idea.” He took another sip. “It’s amazing. Everyone will want this.” He raised his voice. “Lerica! We’re going to be rich.”
“Sure, sure,” came the bored reply through the bulkhead.
“Wait,” said Lyzuga. “How could I trade this without Baskillian vengeance coming down upon me? My life wouldn’t be worth a ducat if they suspected that I knew.”
“Princess Aerlyn would be willing to help you with that,” Aiyan said, “if you don’t mind taking your cargo all the way to Aeva. She can broker a deal on the quiet, so that not even the buyers know it was you or your ship.”
“And her percentage would be . . .”
“Nothing at all, since we are paying you nothing for the voyage. Except funding for basic supplies, of course.”
Lyzuga stood and went to the porthole, staring out for a time. Kyric found a spoon and scooped a tiny bit of the spice into his own coffee. It was unbelievably good. So good that it almost hurt when the taste began to fade.
Lyzuga turned back to them. “I have this rule. I never sail three thousand miles into unknown waters with strangers. I also have a contract to transport a load of goods to a coffee plantation about three days sail down the east coast, and I must take delivery of these tomorrow in any case. So this is what I propose: The two of you come with us as my guests, and we will all get to know one another a little. It will take a day to unload Calico, during which time we will enjoy the hospitality of the Dorigano family — gracious hosts, I assure you. The whole trip can be done in a week if the weather holds. If all goes well we can be on our way to the Spice Islands in ten days.”
“Very well,” said Aiyan. “I admire your forehandedness, Captain.”
Lyzuga bowed to the compliment. “Since we are now partners of a sort, you may call me Ellec.”
Aiyan and Kyric came aboard the next evening, after making their third and last visit to the armorer and picking up their hardened corslets. Aiyan had noticed a bin stacked with what looked like crude helmets. The armorer told him that they were the split shells of the jejabe nut. He explained that they were once used by his tribe in a ritual dance that involved head-clubbing, but that no one performed it anymore.
“With these we can strike to the head with full force in our practice,” Aiyan said. He bought two of them for a ducat apiece.
Lerica met them at the plank, just as the last of the cargo was being secured. The first mate, a short but solid man named Pallan, stood on the quarter deck and directed the loading. The crew was a mixed group of Terrulans and Alerians, with one white-skinned fellow from the Pallenborne who did the cooking. Including Aiyan and himself, Kyric counted a total of seventeen souls aboard Calico.
Four small cabins lay beneath the quarter deck — one each for Lerica, Pallan, and Ellec. The fourth, where Aiyan and Kyric would sleep, was a tiny dining room, having a fold-down table against the bulkhead and a cabinet for dishware. There were hooks for hammocks, and happily, Lerica found a spare one for Kyric.
To celebrate their newfound partnership, Ellec insisted on taking them to dinner at the only place resembling a Western-style hotel, an Aessian looking establishment called the Sevdin Arms. He brought Lerica with him.
She looked quite dashing in a black leather jacket with tails, and a matching pair of trousers. She walked with a strut and carried a light fencing sabre, but she was somehow still girlish and lovely, even without make-up. No one could mistake her for a man. Yet Kyric began to suspect that she had never worn a dress in her life.
He saw immediately that there was something between her and Ellec, knowing little glances and the like, and with Ellec being so much older — he looked about forty — Kyric started thinking of him as some kind of lothario. He probably hired her just for this reason. How could she have enough experience to serve as mate when she was barely older than himself?
Aiyan seemed to read his mind. At least something about Kyric’s demeanor struck him as amusing. He turned to Lerica.
“So how did you come to the seafarer’s life, if I may ask?”
She speared a slice of raw tuna before answering. “Shortly after Uncle Ellec inherited Calico from his father, he came to a clan gathering in Aleria — that’s where I grew up. He needed a steward and I begged him to take me. That was eight years ago. I was fourteen.”
“Ahh,” said Aiyan, “then you are a Lyzuga as well.”
Lerica shook her head. “I’m a Panthrum. Same clan, different family. The Panthrums have always been hunters and forest guides, only there’s not so much forest as there used to be. Too many farms now. Glad I got away.”
Kyric felt his face going warm. He had to stop jumping to conclusions about people. It struck him that this was part of the emptiness Aiyan spoke of — not deciding, but rather letting it play out with no expectations.
They set sail the next morning an hour before dawn, the mainsail furled, the entire crew hauling on the lateens with each tack. Aiyan had the two of them on deck at first light in their cuira-boulli and nut helmets. “Now we can spar at full speed,” he said. “No holding back today — show me what you can do.”
Kyric felt he looked ridiculous. Lerica had an especially good chuckle, but she also watched their practice closely. There was no structured lesson, and it quickly turned into a running fight along the length of the main deck, Aiyan smiling the whole time. Kyric’s ears rang by the end of it, and he was bruised beneath his leather, but he had managed to cut Aiyan across the ribs with one attack. He was pretty sure that Aiyan hadn’t been trying his hardest.
Calico passed out of the straits as the sun set behind them, the clouds painted in rose and lavender. The winds were fair the next two days, and two more sunsets found them approaching a grey-green shoreline broken by the mouth of a sluggish river. They anchored for the night.
Kyric opened his eyes and it was still pitch black. He sat on hard-packed earth, his back against a wall of dried mud and sticks, human flesh pressing against him from either side. The air was thick with the odor of sweat and filth. He almost gagged.
A dim light outlined the door of the
hut, and he became aware of vague shapes near him. The man to his right wheezed on every ragged breath, and the woman to his left was urinating on herself right where she sat. He heard the sound of soft, hopeless weeping. Louder than that was the terrible silence.
A dull thump came from the door, a muffled call. “Are you in there?” It was Rolirra.
“Help me,” said Kyric in a weak scratchy voice.
“I cannot open the door. You must come out.”
He tried to crawl towards the light, but there were so many people that they lay on top of each other, or sat with limbs entwined. He couldn’t find places for his hands and knees, so he crawled over them.
They didn’t complain. They made no sound as he gouged a throat with his hand and dug into someone’s ribs with his knee. He finally made it to the door and pushed it open to fall into Rolirra’s arms. When he turned back to look, they were all corpses, long dead, broken bones jutting through petrified flesh.
Rolirra pulled him away from the hut and led him along a winding jungle trail. “We must go quickly,” she said. “The sun has already started down.”
They ran in silence, their bare feet slapping the earth. “We will not make it in time,” Rolirra said. “Not this way.”
She slowed and looked into the trees. She found one canted over, nearly fallen, and dashed up its trunk, taking hold of a vine at the top and climbing. Kyric followed and they climbed easily, horizontal shafts of light piercing the trees, the vine roughly fibered and resinous. The tighter he gripped it, the more it gripped back. They climbed all the way to the top of the trunk, then upward again along a thin limb, bursting through a ceiling of leaves to stand atop the canopy of the rainforest.
Rolirra could walk on the canopy like it was solid ground. She found a giant of a treetop, and plucked two leaves the size and shape of kite shields. The roof of the canopy sloped away towards a long valley. She tossed one leaf to Kyric and placed the other at her feet. Stepping back and taking a running start, she threw herself down on it and slid away, riding it like a toboggan on a snowy hill. He did the same and soon caught up with her, joining hands and careening along the thick tangle of vines and leaves and branches.
The Hidden Fire (Book 2) Page 4
